Thranduil, the Party King
by Quiet Solitude
Summary: I REGRET NOTHING. This is just a fun one; I had a great time writing it. Warning: excessive use of shutter shades, glow-sticks, and wine.


"Make sure the disco ball is _well-polished_! Yes, have strobe lights everywhere! No, no, no! I _told_ you, the mechanical bull goes in the back left corner beside the cider fountain, _not_ in the front right corner by the speakers!" Thranduil paraded around the Great Hall, pointing manicured fingers at various elves who were hanging decorations, maneuvering furniture, laying platters of food, and doing anything else needed to throw a party.

"Yes, the doors need to be _doused_ in glitter, and don't forget to—Ah, Firmandir." The regal king turned towards another elf who had come rushing up, changing his tone from stern uncompromising to one of care and concern.

"You wished to see me, Hîr vuin?" the slightly flustered elf asked, gazing upon his king, slightly terrified of what he would ask.

"Yes," Thranduil replied with an air of superiority, but not of unkindness. "How many barrels of wine have we set aside for tonight?"

"Th-thirty-two, your highness," the elf stammered. "Should I send some back to the cellar, or—"

"Of course not!" Thranduil's hand shot up to his heart in an act of horrified repulsion, though it lasted only for a second. "Double—no— _triple_ the barrels! And, good Firmandir," his voice had softened once again, "make sure you have a few bottles of my favorite red wine tucked secretly behind the stage."

Firmandir stood in silence, gawking at the king with wide eyes and an open mouth. "T-t- _triple_ the barrels?" he finally sputtered. "My lord, are you certain?"

Rather than give a straightforward answer, Thranduil pulled the Keeper of the Wine into a crushing side-hug, crouching slightly in order to achieve the same height as his subject. "Firmandir, today is my only son's 1116th birthday, and I have promised to throw him the most _fabulous_ party the Woodland Realm has ever seen!" The king motioned to the entirety of the Great Hall, sweeping his hand in a dramatic gesture in front of him, eyes wide with imagination and anticipation. "Just picture it! Silver lights reflecting off the disco ball, elves upon elves raving, and my Legolas in the center, challenging everyone to a dance battle! Oh, the music, the energy! Wine shall flow from the very _walls_ of this palace tonight! And that, friend Firmandir, is where you come in." Thranduil straightened, once more a head taller than anyone else in the room. "Oh, and—" the king tossed the words over his shoulder as he glided off to inspect the speaker system, "—feel free to grab a bottle yourself, for all your hard work."

. . .

Oh, what a night to be an elf! The loud thumping of the music reverberated throughout the entire forest, assaulting the ears of any creature who was uninvited. They complained openly of the noise and superfluous nature of the elves, but, deep down, secretly coveted an invitation to the party more than gold or jewels. Elrond and his three children had arrived just as the sun was setting, and it was rumored that even the good Lady Galadriel would make an appearance to honor Legolas's 1116th birthday. Elves upon elves of the Woodland Realm began pouring into the palace, all eager to view the decorations, sample the food, savor the wine, and—of course—watch King Thranduil at his most fabulous. His reputation for the best partier in all of Middle Earth had been around for quite some time, and it had been ages since he had reminded anyone why he _possessed_ such a name.

The guests filed rapidly through the open gate and into the hall, taken aback by the beauty and expanse of the place. Glowing silver trees lined the entirety of the hall, their fairy-tale branches spiraling up over the heads of the guests and into the darkness above. Along one side of the room stood a massive table full of refreshments, ending with an open bar—or rather, a small group of elves serving whatever wine was requested. A stage took up the other side of the room, fit with speakers taller than any person and rows upon rows of lights. And, of course, there was the mechanical bull and a trampoline in the back. The best of the decorations, however, was the enormous silver disco ball hanging in the center of the ceiling as if it were a regal star, throwing light in different directions and glittering far more brightly than anything in the room. Thranduil had taken special care to polish it himself, regarding a disco ball as an absolute _must_ for a party.

Guests were given a pair of shutter-shades and glow-sticks upon entry, seeming to become coated in a fine dusting of glitter as soon as they entered the Great Hall. After the elves got over the initial shock of the place, however, they could not help straining their necks to catch a glimpse of their king, asking over and over again the same question: _Where was he?_

. . .

Legolas stood in the barn, quietly stroking the elk whose antlers had been decked out in lights for the party. They slowly turned from red to blue, then melted into green and back to red. The young elf sighed as the beat of the music grew, casting a menacing look at the stable door towards the palace. "I never knew he would throw a party _this_ big, Alrundrim," Legolas whispered to the elk, who stamped an impatient hoof in reply.

"Legolas!" a merry, elegant voice called, breaking the elf out of his somber meditations. "Nearly all our guests have arrived. Are you ready, my son?" Thranduil entered the stable clad in his finest silver robes, a wispy cloak rippling down his shoulders and sweeping the ground with magnificence. He had accessorized by donning at least half a dozen glow-sticks around his wrists and neck, multiple rings that blinked neon colors on his fingers, and his favorite pink shutter shades perched fabulously on his nose. On his head, Thranduil wore a majestic crown of silver twigs, but, instead of the leaves that were usually intertwined, tiny lights dotted the prongs, each glowing neon in the dim stable light. Legolas was nearly blinded by the amount of blinking and glowing his father gave off.

"Ada," Legolas began, turning to face the king. "Ada—this is an extremely _large_ party."

Thranduil's grin widened into a broad smile, and he walked toward his son with outstretched hands. "Of course, Legolas, of course! But you sound nervous, my son. Don't be! This is _your_ party, and—though I know you have become used to those quiet, agonizingly boring feasts of Elrond's—embrace it!" The king paused, looking his son up and down. "And, um, take these to…brighten your wardrobe," he added, thrusting a pair of green stutter shades and a few glow-sticks into Legolas's hands. "Oh, and…and this."

From under his cloak, Thranduil pulled another crown lined with lights. It looked exactly like the king's version, only smaller; the silver branches had still been fashioned with great care, and the lights seemed to have a personality of their own, shining in bright anticipation for the party. Thranduil approached his son, raised the crown, and gently placed it on Legolas's head.

"You look fabulous, my son," he whispered, adjusting a bit of Legolas's hair in order to flatter his facial features a bit more.

The younger elf met his father's gaze, smiling forcefully and letting out another little sigh. "Thank you, Ada." He then put on his shades and placed one bracelet on his wrist.

"And now," Thranduil chirped, mounting his elk, "are you ready to show these peasants how the Party King and his Prince enter a room?"

For an answer, Legolas mounted behind his father.

Thranduil put his finger to his ear and said, through a tiny microphone, "Cue the fog."

. . .

A hush fell across the Great Hall. The pounding music had silenced, new guests had stopped arriving, and a mysterious fog licked at the feet of the elves, causing a startled uneasiness. Something big was about to happen.

Suddenly, multi-colored lights burst forth from all around, and the song, "Sexy Back" boomed from the speakers. The huge glitter-ridden doors swung open, and in walked the elk with its two riders.

The crowd exploded into a roar of applause and screams. Thranduil held his head high, a proud god being taken to his temple. As he passed, the crowd's noise grew from thunderous to ear-splitting, especially since his hand swept gracefully back and forth, sending wide waves toward the crowd and tiny kisses to elven maids. He motioned for the music to be turned up, only triggering _more_ shouts of approval and excitement.

Legolas, on the other hand, smiled weakly, waving half-heartedly at the elven-folk who continued to gawk. He tried his best to hide behind his father's regal form, wishing harder than ever that he could just disappear.

Thranduil guided the large animal onto the stage with ease, dropping lightly to the floor and causing yet another wave of cheers. Fog continued to creep around their feet as Legolas joined the king at center stage, standing a couple steps back from the glittering spectacle that was his father.

Thranduil opened his arms to the crowd, basking in the noise, the energy, the anticipation. Then he motioned for silence.

"Welcome, friends, to the Great Hall of the Woodland Realm!" he boomed, sharp and confident, to the ocean of faces looking up at him with wide eyes. "Are all our wine glasses full?" A thundering sound wave met his ears. "But…I don't seem to have a wine glass, nor does my son! Let's fix that!" Lazily, he pointed a finger toward one of the servers, motioning for him to bring up two glasses and a bottle. The crowd continued to roar as the glasses were filled, then rose to a staggering volume when Thranduil immediately drained his and motioned for another.

"There, now, that's better! Before we get started tonight, let us not forget who this party is for. Legolas, come on!" Thranduil turned, willing his son to step forward into the light.

Legolas obeyed reluctantly, standing with his father's hand upon his shoulder and the lights shining directly into his eyes. He looked down, taking a small sip from his glass.

"Yes," Thranduil continued, "My son, my Legolas, is turning 1116 tonight, and this is the cause of our celebration! And, Legolas," Thranduil again turned from the crowd to the prince, "since this is such an important age, I have decided to give you…" he paused, relishing in the fact that he had control of the excited tension in the room, "…your very own Party Elk!"

The great glittered doors burst open once more, and the crowd parted again. A nervous young elk was led in—its antlers decorated in lights,of course—straining at the ropes in response to the noise and neon. "Ah, a feisty beast, full of energy and spirit!" Thranduil's voice then dropped so only Legolas could hear. "He is a fine elk, strong and swift. One of the best in the Wood, with light feet and tough antlers."

"He will be a trustworthy companion to ride into battle with," Legolas replied, his eyes suddenly wide with interest for the creature. He stepped forward to inspect its flanks.

"Let us hope it never comes to that," Thranduil whispered, inaudible to anyone but himself. "Now," he said, voice rising once more. "Let's start this party with an old song we all love!" Making his way to the DJ, he turned the volume to the max as the crowd began to spread out and dance, jumping with excitement and singing along with the lyrics.

 _Starships were meant to fly_

 _Hands up and touch the sky…_

. . .

Thranduil glided through the throng, stopping here and there to dance, to take pictures with whoever wanted them, to refill his glass with the wine Firmandir had hidden just for him. In the distance he spied Elrond, clad in a midnight blue robe, sipping a drink and surveying the room.

"You're acting ancient tonight," Thranduil tossed out, approaching the grim-looking elf. "Why so melancholy?"

Elrond looked at the flashy elf by his side, frowning. "I could not refuse such an invitation, and of course came to honor your son's birthday."

"Ah, you mistrust me. You came to see that no harm came to your sons and daughter."

"Your parties do have a bit of a…wild reputation, Thranduil." Elrond cast yet another look of disapproval at the blinking, glowing manifestation before him. "They have for quite a long time."

"You act millennia over your actual age, Elrond," Thranduil replied, waving his hand in dismissal over the rude comment. "But mark my words, you ancient old star, I shall have you partying nearly as hard as me by the end of the night. I haven't forgotten the hype you used to cause back in the early days of Middle Earth."

Without another word, the Party King waltzed off, leaving Elrond shaking his head. As soon as he was out of earshot, however, Thranduil grabbed one of the hired help, pointed to the Master of Rivendell, and whispered, "See that dark-haired elf in blue? Make sure his wine glass is always full. When he starts swaying to the music and puts on his shades, find me."

. . .

The party raged on later and later into the night. Elves' eyesight grew hazy, their movements sloppy, their steps staggered. Their thirst simply grew. Thranduil drifted around the room as an apparition, first stopping to dance here, then responding to coaxing shouts he heard from there. More than once he was challenged to ride the mechanical bull, and more than once he proved himself to be champion, all without dropping his wine glass. When a particularly pleasing song was played, he always led the others into a multicolored dance craze, glow-sticks flashing and cheers erupting. Vaguely, Thranduil wondered where Legolas was—for he hadn't seen his son since they were on stage together—but as the haze of drink finally set in, he pushed the matter out of his mind.

Far beneath the Great Hall, out of earshot of the bumping, banging music, wandered a single elf through the vast labyrinth of ancient tunnels, green shutter shades tucked carelessly into a pocket. He had left his blinking crown at the entranceway, fatigued of the lights that made his eyes hurt. Now, the only light came from queer minerals within the walls of the tunnel, sparkling sliver underfoot and overhead, casting an illusion of walking among the galaxies. Indeed, it didn't _feel_ like a tunnel at all; rather, Legolas felt as if he could drift through the strange lights forever, never reaching a dead end or confining chamber.

Far away, Legolas heard the bubbling of an underground river. Deciding on a whim to travel towards the sound, he quickly rounded a bend, bumping face-first into another object, its black shape nearly as tall as himself. "Oof!" it cried, stumbling back a foot or two. "Who is—hold on…"

The unidentified person struck a match, lighting a candle held in its other hand. Warm yellow light replaced the eerie coolness of the silvery minerals, revealing a fair face framed in astonishingly red hair. Two glittering eyes stared back at the prince, laced with shock, confusion, and…delight?

"Legolas?" Tauriel breathed. "What are _you_ doing here? It _is_ your party, you know."

"I might ask you the same question," he retorted, relaxing his grip on his ever-present dagger and smiling in good humor. "Perhaps the amount of flamboyance wasn't sufficient enough for your extravagant tastes?"

Tauriel grinned, making her way further into the tunnels with Legolas by her side. "Exactly. It simply did not have enough neon for me to be _at all_ pleased."

The two walked in silence until they came to a little stream, pooling into a shallow pond underneath the glowing lights. Tauriel and Legolas had made many trips here when they were younger, so—as not to break custom—they did the most natural thing; they took off their shoes and waded into the water. For a long time, they stood skipping rocks on the pond's smooth surface, watching the ripples expand and eventually lap at the bank, as if the water itself were tasting the shore.

"You know, Legolas, he threw it all just for you," Tauriel said after a while, her voice echoing off the cavern walls.

The prince sighed, carelessly tossing the rock he had picked up into the water. "Yes, Tauriel, I am aware. I've watched him for weeks, planning, planning, planning this party _himself_. _He_ planned it. I did not." Plopping onto the cool earth, Legolas let his feet dabble in the frigid water. "He just…he just never sees that I am _different_. But, at the same time, I somehow feel _guilty_ that I fail to enjoy the same things he does. I shall disappoint him. But if I act as if I agree with him, I shall disappoint myself. Sometimes—sometimes I am torn between Ada's expectations and my own heart."

Tauriel sat quietly beside her friend, looking out over the pond. "King Thranduil treasures you more than life itself, Legolas," she responded after a bit, speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the stillness of the place. "The entire kingdom sees that. And, though he may not understand why you prefer a quieter lifestyle, I believe he recognizes that there is a rift between you. Why else would he throw such an extravagant party? He is _trying_ , in the best way he knows how, to connect with you again. I imagine that he…he misses you." She paused, then added, smiling, "And he rarely has a chance to remind the others that he _is_ , without a doubt, the Party King."

Legolas chuckled, genuinely smiling about the party for the first time that night. "I…I miss him, too, Tauriel." He stood, taking his green shutter shades out of his pocket and putting them on. "One night will not hurt my pride. Besides, what good is a Party King if he has no Prince to uphold his legacy?"

Smiling and shaking her head, Tauriel took the hand Legolas had extended towards her. He pulled her up, they donned their shoes, and the two elves walked hand-in-hand back to the party.

. . .

Meanwhile, Thranduil the Party King continued enjoying the lights, the beat, the energy. He bobbed to and fro throughout the dance floor, only leaving it to top off his wine glass with his personal stash. As he was doing the Wobble, however, a breathless, red-faced elf stumbled towards him, panting, "Hîr vuin! Hîr vuin!"

Thranduil straightened, a look of slight annoyance crossing his features. "What could be of so much importance that you interrupted my dancing?"

"Hîr vuin, it is the dark-haired elf. As you requested, I have come to report that he is donning purple shutter shades and is dancing—quite terribly I might add—near the left side of the stage."

Thranduil's look of annoyance was quickly replaced by one of smug satisfaction. He nodded his appreciation to the elf, then glided to the left side of the stage to seek Elrond.

The dark-haired elf wasn't difficult to find; other party-goers had made a ring around him to make room for his off-beat, jerky gestures. A constant stream of false encouragement was thrown his way, along with a fair bit of open laughter. But Elrond only seemed to gain momentum from the noise, his contorted flailing getting wilder every second.

"Elrond! Quite a surprise to find you out on the dance floor," Thranduil called, bringing the intoxicated elf to a wobbly halt.

Elrond looked around in confusion for a few seconds, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from. Then he spied the glittering neon figure emerging from the throng and shouted, "Thranduil, you little bashtard! Trying to get me drunk!" A stupid smile had plastered itself onto Elrond's face, and he stumbled a step or two forward, trying to focus his glazed eyes on the king. "But, shee, you have failed! I'm only shlightly buzzed, and don't intend to have any…any more tonight. Turns out this old elf can handle his wine bet-better than you thought!" A look of pride manifested on his face as he swayed slightly back and forth; he had failed to notice that his shutter shades were slightly askew and his hair had frizzed on one side.

Thranduil chuckled quietly. "I am sorry, my friend, but I fear I must correct you. It seems to me that you have had a bit more than you think, and it might be wise if you come sit down."

Elrond's face fell in an instant, his ears and cheeks suddenly glowing red. "Shee here, Thranduil! It seems to _me_ that you think you can out-last any…anyone here! Well, I tell you that I am capab…capabible…I can drink _twice_ the wine you consume! I…I challenge you to a drink-off!"

A sudden hush fell over the Great Hall. The music halted, the dancing stopped, and even the air felt heavy with tension. Thranduil's good-natured smile vanished; he eyed Elrond with intensity, taking off his shutter shades and glaring at the dark-haired elven lord with a steady, piercing gaze. "Do you think this wise, Elrond?" he whispered. "To challenge the Party King to a drinking game?"

For only a second, a look of uncertainty crossed Elrond's face; perhaps sobriety was fighting for a say in matters. But this common sense was buried by a quick tongue, for the Master of Rivendell replied bitterly, "It would be an honor to show these elves that you are no better at partying than anyone here."

Thranduil sniffed, straightening to his full height, never taking his eyes off Elrond. "Let the drink-off begin!" he shouted, smiling terribly and guiding his opponent to the stage. "Two full bottles of wine, if you please!"

The crowd condensed around the stage as the two bottles were uncorked and handed to the rivals. Thranduil motioned for silence, then said, barely above a whisper, "I must apologize in advance, my friend, for your foolishness and my triumph." Then, turning to the crowd, his voice once more filled the room. "The first to come up for air loses. Now, DJ, play a good drinking song at the count of three. You there," the king pointed at a random elf in the front of the crowd, "Count us off."

"ONE!" Thranduil straightened, gazing intently at the excited bodies around him. "TWO!" Elrond shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly looking terrified. "THREE!"

The bottles tipped, the chorus of "Shots" began blaring, and the crowd erupted into cheers of, "Chug! Chug! Chug!" all in an instant. Elrond stumbled back a step as he slammed his bottle to his mouth, taking great gulps of the potent liquid. Thranduil, on the other hand, barely moved, his long hair rippling down his back as he tipped the bottle upward, chugging evenly. A quarter of each wine bottle was gone…then a half…the crowd kept getting louder…

Suddenly, Elrond sputtered and coughed, spitting wine all over the stage and spilling just under half the contents of the bottle down the front of his robes. The partygoers roared with laughter, waving glow-sticks and pumping fists in the air for the winner.

Thranduil never even flinched through the chaos. He only raised his right hand in victory as he heard Elrond sputter, continuing to down the wine. It was three-fourths gone…only an eighth remained…

The Party King pulled the empty bottle from his lips, raising it over his head in triumph as the entire room erupted in screams of excitement. He walked steadily to the edge of the stage, arms stretched upward in pride. The smug smile manifested itself once again; he tipped his head to the ceiling, gaining an air of regality that never failed to take away the breath of all in his presence. He had done it, had proven himself worthy, had been the life of the party. He had been a success, the entire _night_ had been a success; it was all perfect—

Without warning, the great glittered doors burst forth, revealing two figures who sauntered up to the stage, the one on the left shouting, "Thranduil! A word!"

. . .

Thranduil's head snapped onto the unwelcome guests. One was dressed all in grey, a slightly tangled beard hanging to his stomach, and hair nearly as long spilling down his back. A pointed, wide-brimmed hat sat atop his head; he gripped a tall wooden staff in his right hand. Grim, smoldering anger shone in his eyes, and his pale lips were pressed into a thin line.

The other, shorter by an inch or two, was dressed in brown, donning a hat with much-too-large ear flaps on either side. A substance that looked suspiciously like bird poop ran down the side of his face, making Thranduil scowl in disgust. His eyes kept flitting back and forth around the room with unease, as if unsure why he had burst into the room at all.

Recovering from his split-second surprise that such people would barge unannounced into a private party, Thranduil straightened, peering down at them with a threatening gaze. "How _dare_ you interrupt an elven gathering!" he hissed, his voice echoing around the silent room. " _This_ is a _private_ party for _elves only_! What could you _possibly_ want, Gandalf? And why bring that great joke of a wizard, Radagast?" Thranduil sneered at the wizard in brown, who immediately dropped his gaze to his fidgeting hands.

"How dare _you_ exclude wizards from your party!" Gandalf shouted back in booming tones, pointing a gnarled finger at the beautiful elven king. "Wizards are just as important as elves in these parts, and have every right to be here. To put it bluntly," at this, Gandalf retracted his accusing glare and replaced it with one of stubborn practicality, saying, almost with the arrogance of an elf, "…we want in."

"Ha! Don't make me laugh, peasants!" Thranduil retorted, tossing his head back and waving the two wizards away. "You may either leave now or get shone to the very nice dungeons we keep for party crashers like you."

"We thought you'd respond this way!" Radagast piped up, then looked shocked that he had spoken even a sentence. "S-so we have a proposal f-for you. We ch-ch-challenge you t-t-to…t-t-to…"

"—a dance-off," Gandalf finished. "Radagast and I against you and whomever you choose."

Thranduil turned back to the wizards suddenly, gazing at them in consideration. If only Legolas were beside him…

"Ada!" A voice from the back of the room sliced the tension like a knife. Legolas' form manifested from the crowd as he jogged to the stage, sporting the green shutter shades and even the blinking crown. "We accept your offer," he stated with finality, coming to a halt beside his father.

As one unit, the elves around the two wizards parted, creating a wide circle to dance in with ease. King and prince, father and son, sparkling wonder and neutral determination, the two climbed off the stage, facing the wizards across the circle and staring with eyes of fire, anticipation, and confidence.

"Drop a beat, DJ," Thranduil commanded, straightening his pink shades as the introduction of "Turn Down for What" immediately blared out of the speakers.

"Ladies first," Legolas sneered.

The two wizards stepped forward, mildly bobbing their heads to the beat. Then, as if flipping a switch, they began whirling their staffs in the air, twisting and turning them in complicated figures, and beating them upon the floor in time to the music. Radagast lost all his fidgetiness, matching Gandalf beautifully, and at the end of their routine they managed to gain some applause.

"Try to t-top that!" Radagast sputtered, throwing a snarky smile at the elves.

For a reply, Thranduil and Legolas simply looked at each other and nodded. As soon as the beat dropped, down they both went. Springing back up in time to the music, they did a complicated pop-and-lock routine, dancing around the wizards and waving them off at the end. The crowd simply loved the attitude, going nuts as the two elves stepped back to give the wizards the floor.

Gandalf and Radagast scowled, beyond words. In response, the grey wizard took the brown by the hand and half skipped, half waltzed him around the circle. Then Gandalf threw Radagast to the ground where he spun in sharp circles, coming to a stop in a pose worthy of great applause.

Thranduil cast a slightly concerned look at Legolas, now understanding why Gandalf had brought such a twitchy friend. If only he and Legolas had practiced their dance moves more! The prince, however, squeezed his father's shoulder in response, saying only, "Trust me, Ada. Just do the best moves you know and leave the rest to me."

The beat dropped again. Thranduil and Legolas began some fancy footwork that elves were so keen on mastering; suddenly, Legolas was on the ground, shifting his weight back and forth on his hands, then went into a complete head-stand spin that completely set the crowd roaring. Glow-sticks were thrown, glasses were raised, shoulders were punched. Legolas ended by popping up, posing with his father; Thranduil propped himself on his son's shoulder, and the prince crossed his arms and cocked his head in arrogance just as the music stopped.

If possible, the crowd roared even louder, engulfing the two elves and driving the defeated wizards to the door. A great scowl was etched onto Gandalf's face, while Radagast seemed only to be focused on not getting trampled by the amount of bodies pushing him out of the palace.

Thranduil and Legolas were lifted onto the shoulders of two large elves, watching their rivals leave from over the heads of their guests. Great wine glasses filled to the brim were given to each, and, in unison, father and son clinked the glasses, downed them, then demanded a refill.

. . .

Late night turned into the wee hours of the morning, and—very slowly—guests staggered out of the Great Hall looking disheveled but extremely pleased. Elrond had passed out not too long after the dance battle, now sleeping soundly in one of the guest bedrooms. As Legolas waved the last few stragglers out the door, Tauriel approached him with a wine glass in her hand. "You were amazing tonight," she said, playfully nudging his shoulders.

Legolas took off his shutter shades and turned off his blinking crown, smiling softly at the ground. "Yes, well…Ada had fun tonight. And…I enjoyed it, as well." He cast a small glance her way, hoping she took it as a "thank you" for persuading him to spend a little time with his father.

Tauriel smiled back, her eyes bright and gentle. "You're a good person, Legolas. Never let anyone tell you otherwise." She paused, looking down at her wine. Then, on a whim, she leaned towards her friend and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

She pulled away quickly, looking down again and hoping to hide her wide grin. Legolas, however, stood frozen, staring straight ahead without blinking and steadily turning the color of ripe tomatoes.

"Well, umm…I should get some sleep," the red-headed elf whispered. "Goodnight, Legolas."

The prince started as if shaken from a haze. "Right. Bed. Me, too. Tauriel!" he said louder, for the she-elf had already turned. "Erm…goodnight."

Tauriel smiled back, then continued walking across the Great Hall towards the chamber. Legolas sighed, truly alone at last, then began walking to the stables to check if his elk had settled in comfortably. As he entered the stable, however, he heard a low, slurred murmuring coming from the stall where his father kept the Party Elk. Being as quiet as possible, Legolas crept up beside the stall door and peered in, the hilt of his dagger grasped firmly in his hand.

Thranduil sat in the corner, robes askew and shutter shades lopsided. Slightly tangled blonde hair half-covered the crown that continued to blink feebly, while the rings he donned had gone out completely. He swayed unsteadily and hiccupped, a giant grin never leaving his features.

"…and you should have seen him, Alrundrim!" the king slurred, slopping a bit of wine down his robes. " _My_ Legolash! My son, dancing better…better than anyone I have ever sheen! An' we showed 'em! We showed 'em wizards. Wiiiiiizzaaaards! Wiiiiiizzzaaaaards! Ha, funny word. But Alrundrim, lemme tell you! His danshing was simply shuperb! And I…I had _sho_ much fun with my boy…my Leg…my Lego…"

Thranduil slumped over on the wooden wall, snoring loudly on the bed of soft hay, his wine glass finally leaving his hand for the night. Legolas rolled his eyes and smiled, quietly entering the stall. He took off his father's shades and crown, laying them beside the sleeping elf. Not wanting to call attention to the king's current state, Legolas decided to leave him there rather than rallying someone to help move him. Besides, Thranduil looked quite peaceful lying beside his elk.

"Goodnight, Ada, and thank you for the party. You truly _are_ the Party King."


End file.
